"I am not aware that we have any cousins within an appreciable distance. Her name is Dalrymple now. A month ago she was Julia Pilchard."
"A month ago! But you cannot mean—it is not possible—you are not married already!"
"Yes. So you see I have, after all, something of an 'actual tie' abroad—so long as Julia remains there."
Hermione was silent. Her face was grave once more, with a gravity amounting to severity. She sat upright, one hand lying over the other on her knee. How very young she seemed! Yet Harvey, lounging in a chair opposite with his air of gentlemanly insouciance, had an odd "naughty-boy" sense of being called to account by her for his misdoings. It was quite absurd. He positively almost dreaded her next words, and found it difficult to wind himself up to a due indifference.
"Julia is an orphan, like yourself," he said, hiding the feeling of embarrassment under a light manner. "She has only one sister, a widow, Mrs. Trevor, several years older than herself. I met them in Algeria last autumn, travelling for the sake of Mr. Trevor's health. Three months ago I came across them again in a Swiss hotel. Mr. Trevor had died before Christmas."
No answer came. Had Hermione taken unknowingly a leaf out of her grandfather's book? She seemed to be thinking deeply.
"Mrs. Trevor is a most charming person. You will be delighted with her. They were both in great trouble when I found them at Chamouni—not alone from the death of Mr. Trevor. Mrs. Trevor had just heard of a lost lawsuit, which meant ruin to herself and her child—and to Julia also. Julia was dependent on her."
Hermione spoke at last in a low voice of displeasure. "Married! And without a word to my grandfather! Does he know?"
"I told him immediately. That was my object in coming here."
"But not till a month afterwards! And all the love and kindness he has shown—Marjory will not try to defend this!"